


Beyond After

by Sentry



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (2016), Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: HollowHeart - Freeform, I Don't Even Know, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Secret Crush, There's A Tag For That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-01-23 05:20:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sentry/pseuds/Sentry
Summary: Jacob's life was split intoBeforeandAfterwhen his grandpa was murdered. Soon after meeting the peculiar children, he suffers the same fate.That should have been it for hisAfterchapter, but Enoch writes another ending.
Relationships: Enoch O'Connor/Jacob Portman
Comments: 11
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

The fact that he's doing it doesn't surprise him.

The bird had always tried to place a certain taboo on applying his peculiarity to actual people, but he'd been doing it long before she'd found him, did it after even with Victor.

Rather, he supposes, he's surprised who he's doing it _for_.

Jake wasn't Abe, but the similarities were enough to turn his stomach. He tells himself that he felt nothing for him - nothing but disdain and a jealousy that he'll never admit to. The teen had swooped into their small world with just as much flair as his famed relative, had the others eating from the palm of his hand, including Emma. The girl that Enoch had once been intrigued by started falling for the kid just like she had his grandfather, and isn't _that_ just another reminder of how fucked up their lives are?

Maybe, in time, she would have grown to love him too, if he hadn't played the hero and gotten himself killed by a hollowgast going for Claire.

Enoch shouldn't delay the courageous death the moron clearly desired. Should just let him stay on some pedestal of bones and admiration that the others will undoubtedly make for him.

But the word_ possibility_ hits him again, ringing around in his skull like a damned echo. It seems sickeningly synonymous with Portman. He can see the infectious energy fading from their loop already, just as much in Emma's horror struck eyes as the boy's actual death.

So, he does it without really stopping to think why. Tearing away from the puddle of blood they're all standing in, he races for the house. Someone shouts something behind him, Millard maybe, but he doesn't stop. The sky above him is filled with the distant sounds of planes, and he knows from too many days, too many god forsaken years that the bomb will come in the next few minutes.

The darkness of the basement embraces him like an old friend when he stumbles into it, but doesnt revel in it now. Finding the jar he needs by memory alone, he tucks it under his arm and races back out of the house. The group is still there, almost an exact snapshot of when he'd left. The only difference is Emma, who's crumpled on the ground next to Jacob, holding his head in her hands. His eyes are open and staring at the exploding sky, but the awe that used to brighten them during the reset is gone.

Kneeling, Enoch sets the jar on the ground, ignoring the disbelieving protest that Bronwyn barks at him. Emma looks like she's wanting to voice her own, but for once, the fire girl is at a loss for words. Grief is pulling her face into something harsh and painful looking. It gives him a sense of deja vu that surely rivals Horace's peculiarity, but there's no future telling here. Just a girl mourning the same death twice.

She does move when he pulls his scalpel from his pocket, curling over the corpse like the dead need protecting. He gives her an exasperated glance.

"What's the meaning of this?" Miss Peregrine asks. The tone of her words is low, more subdued than should be possible for their everstrong guardian. It's the same one she had when Victor passed, and a variation of the one when she couldn't convince Abe to stay. He can never quite meet her eyes when she sounds like that, but he tries. One of the twins are clinging to her arm, releasing a whimper as he looks towards the sky. His mirror image has chosen Bronwyn to seek comfort from, despite the strong teen having her arms full of a guilt ridden Claire. With a bit of shuffling, Bronwyn manages to get the masked girl into her arms as well, before looking to the bird for guidance.

Miss Peregrine blinks and shakes her head, as if arising from a stupor.

"Right, then. Millard, Bronwyn, Hugh, please take the children inside. Fiona should be waiting to help. I need to attend to the reset. Miss Bloom..." She stops herself, sparing the eerily quiet girl an unreadable look. Enoch turns away before her eyes settle on him, before she can repeat her earlier question.

He doesn't have an answer for it.

It was clear when the hollowgast had attacked that Jacob Portman hadn't inherited his grandfather's peculiarity. He'd been just as blind as the rest of them, looking around the cave in shock before jumping into action when Claire had screamed. So, it isn't like he's giving him a brief revival to ask if there were any more. The kid won't know any more than they do.

Most likely, he's doing it for Emma, who never got any last words with Abe before the bastard had run off. She didn't deserve it that time, and doesn't deserve it now.

But is that all of it, really?

Still kneeling on the grass, the knees of his pants becoming warm and tacky with blood, he sticks to the conclusion that he doesnt know. And perhaps more importantly, doesn't give a shit. He doesnt have to explain his reasoning to anyone, even himself. There's some shuffling behind him as the group disperses, but he doesn't watch them go.

He levels Emma with a flat look of appraisal. She rises somewhat to meet Enoch's gaze. It's clear she's trying for a glare, but her face is too drawn, too pale. Blood is splattered across her front, and it just makes the contrast worse.

"Do you wanna say goodbye or not?" He snaps, and Bronwyn's there in an instant, her anger palpable like a physical thing. She must have handed the girls off to someone else, because her hands are free, curling into shaking fists. Her shirtsleeve rising in the air points to Millard trying to hold her back, like he even could.

"Stop it, Enoch." She hisses. "It's too soon for this!"

Enoch looks up at her, the emotion spreading across her round face almost making him feel guilty. Of all of the peculiars, she's the most familiar with his gift, including the downsides to it. He looks away before he can be dissuaded.

"He's not Victor." He says. "So, it's not your call."

Bronwyn makes a noise of aggravated disbelief. For a moment, he thinks he's going to be the first peculiar here to get slugged by the typically gentle strong-arm. Emma grasps her hand though, and Bronwyn visibly deflates.

"It's okay, Bron. I...I do want to say goodbye." Emma tries to collect herself, jerkily wiping her tears away with her other hand.

"You know it won't actually be him." Millard pipes up solemnly, Bronwyn's sleeve falling as he releases her. "It's never them-"

"I _know_.." Emma says. "I...I know. But it's not all about that. Maybe he did sense the hollowgast, just in a different way. We need to ask."

The lie cracks as easily as her voice, but no one calls her out on it. Emma nods at Enoch once, getting up shakily to give him room. Bronwyn wraps a comforting arm around her.

There isn't much left of Jacob's shirt, the modern day band logo in bloody tatters. His skin is gouged too, bits of bone visible in some places. It's not much work to slice through to his heart, Enoch's pulse thrumming in his own hands as he works. It's always strange to feel his own heart working while he stares down at unmoving ones, a sense of stark contradiction he can never quite shake. Removing the organ gently, he hands it to Millard. Invisible hands wrap it gingerly in some cloth they'd tried to stop with the bleeding with earlier. 

Turning back, the air rumbling with the roar of plane engines, Enoch uncaps the jar, reaching into its depths to retrieve the sheep heart. Placing it where Jacob's used to be, used to thrive and thrum, he closes his eyes. Curling his hands over the boy's chest, he focuses on channeling his power there. 

Olive had asked once how it felt. The tiny girl's eyes were filled with too much innocence for him to scare her about it, but in truth, it isn't a scary process at all. There's a tug somewhere in Enoch's soul, a small spark that flows wherever he wants it to go. It's warm and obedient and _good_ in a way that Enoch's not. 

It's life. 

Or in the very least, an imitation of it. 

Heat spreads from his hands and into the heart, which gives a weak beat, and then a stronger one. He wills Jacob's corpse to move like the puppet it is now, to bring forth all the memories that the boy had.

"Rise." He says, and someone inhales sharply behind him. A plane overhead gives a familiar stuttering sound, and the bird near the curled tree startles into flight like it has for decades. 

Just about reset time, then.

The body stirs under his hands, and he channels another order through the connection. 

_Tell them what you saw. Tell them goodbye. Tell Emma goodbye, and that you're sorry for fucking dying in front of her. Tell - _

Jacob blinks up at the sky slowly, dull eyes rolling before settling on Enoch. A rattling breath shakes his torso. The dead-riser waits, frowning when Jacob remains silent. He forces the demands through the connection again, bitter anger seeping in to taint the warmth like always, and Jacob _winces_. 

"Ow, Enoch, stop." 

Emma makes a surprised sound behind him that Millard echoes. It's only shock that keeps Enoch from doing the same. Wrenching his hands away, Enoch's eyes widen when Jacob's own hand follows him, bloody fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist. 

"Enoch, what-what's going on?" Jacob's voice crackles from his throat again, a rough sound that reminds him of glass shattering. The boy looks confused, and a little pained. 

_Not surprising, considering you were dead a moment ago. _ Enoch thinks, but there's a chilling uncertainty overtaking him that makes him shove Jacob's hand away. He shouldn't be moving without Enoch's direction, and sure as hell shouldn't be speaking. The boy frowns again, shifting like he wants to move. Enoch jumps back, feeling the familiar link to his soul whenever he reanimates something floating between them. Only now, it seems strangling rather than empowering. Somewhat frantically, he pours as much of his peculiarity into it, into his words, that he can.

"Be quiet! Stay down, stop moving!" 

Jacob winces again, their connection twinging uncomfortably, but he stills. He rolls his gaze back to the sky, and there's that awe, that brightness again that should no longer be possible. Enoch follows his line of sight, seeing the bomb falling towards them. 

Emma says something that he doesn't catch. He turns to see an alarmed looking Bronwyn holding her back from getting to Jacob. A brief distance from them, he sees the impressions of feet flattening the grass as Millard sprints for the house. Jacob's wrapped heart is still clutched in his hand, bobbing along in the air as he runs. Enoch has never liked going to the bird for guidance, the act making him feel childish in an already childish, protected world. He's somewhat relieved now, though, still feeling that adrenaline fueled chill. 

Time slows to a crawl, cradling the bomb on top of the topiary's finger before rewinding it all. He halfway expects Jacob to be affected too, but he remains where he is, nearly a snapshot in his stillness. That familiar look of fascination returns as he watches reality warp in on itself. 

"Enoch." Bronwyn says. "Enoch, why is he like that? Victor is never...he doesn't talk like that. He doesn't look like that."

Emma squirms in the strong-arm's grasp again. There's a hesitant hope igniting in her face like a kindling flame. 

"Is he alive?" She whispers. 

Enoch shakes his head, but he feels uncertain at the truth of the motion. He doesn't see how he could be, but he's never seen any of animations act like this. Hesitantly, he feels at the connection between them again. The invisible line pulses, somehow feeling stronger than before. The lack of fatigue accompanying it is another anomaly that's confusing. He always feels a strain in his chest whenever he uses his power - the weight of another force pulling at his soul. He pushes at the link, feeling for any sign of wear, but there's nothing. 

The sun falls and rises in the sky, clouds making fast moving mosaics of shadows of the ground. As they slow, melding seamlessly into another nightfall, it's clear that Jacob feels him prodding. He glances back at the dead-riser, taking another rattling breath.

Emma finally lurches from Bronwyn's grasp, Bronwyn's pained hiss and a bit of smoke meaning she probably wasn't released voluntarily. Emma kneels next to Jacob again, fresh tears sparkling in the moonlight. She runs a hand across his forehead, the other hovering uncertainly over his wounds. 

"Jake, are you okay? Does it...hurt?" 

Jacob stares at Enoch for another moment before flicking his gaze to Emma. He tries to speak, probably something ridiculous or self sacrificing, but he breaks off with a cough. Thick, slow moving blood curls from the sides of his mouth. The invisible line goes taut for a moment before settling. Emma turns to Enoch with a renewed fire in her eyes. 

"Help him!" 

"What the hell do you want me to do?" He says back, but he's kneeling down, intently aware that Jacob's staring again. His eyes are still dull, his skin still pallid, but there's light in his expression. It startles Enoch more than seeing his lifeless body did. 

The dead are always easier to deal with than the living.

Something touches at the connection, an experimental motion that is not his own. Enoch freezes at the foreign sensation, recognizing it as Jacob, the boy's light curiousty knocking on a door that had only ever opened for Enoch. There are other emotions now that Enoch is concentrating, Jacob's fear, his confusion, pain, and something warmer, almost fond -

Enoch slams the door with as much force as he can, envisioning himself locking it. Jacob makes a pained noise like he had struck him, eyes clenching shut. Guilt bites at Enoch at the motion, but he can't bring himself to regret it. This situation is still too strange, too impossible even in their bizarre reality. Sorting through his own emotions is hard enough without worrying about someone else's. Still, his breath catches in his throat until Jacob opens his eyes, blinking several times before locking on Enoch again. 

"Maybe you should try tellin' him to do something." Bronwyn says quietly, touching his shoulder. Enoch frowns, uncertain. 

"Uh." He says quietly, not sure what to even say. "Can you move, mate?" 

Jacob says nothing, just continues to stare. Enoch's uncertainty shifts to a mild frustration. He didn't sign up for any of this.

"Answer!" He hisses. 

"Enoch!" Emma snaps, but her attention is jerked back when Jacob shifts, his face scrunching at the small effort. 

"I think so." He rasps. "A little." 

The faint sound of Millard and Miss Peregrine's rapid conversation reaches them, a seemingly floating lantern casting their shadows across the yard. 

"Just stay still, Jake. Miss Peregrine will help you." Emma says, throwing a watery smile at Bronwyn when she squeezes her shoulder in comfort. Enoch shifts back on his heels, suddenly feeling very much like a third (fourth, if he included Bronwyn) wheel. It was a bit irritating, considering the kid wouldn't even be here (alive?) if it weren't for him. Still, it's a relief to step away as Miss Peregrine reaches them. The crisp night air reaches the depths of Enoch's lungs properly, and it's much easier to ground himself. Miss Peregrine's sharp eyes rove Jacob's bloodied form, only the slightest flinch as she appraises the worst of it. Emma has Jacob's hand in hers, resting the pale hand against her cheek. She's saying something softly, quiet words for Jacob alone. 

Something, someone, bumps into his shoulder, and he turns to see the lantern hovering next to him. 

"How are you feeling?" Millard asks, his voice hushed.

"I'm fine." Enoch replies curtly, scowling as Millard presses closer. 

"I meant your peculiarity. Are you getting worn out yet?" 

"Don't you ever wear clothes?" He asks, exasperatedly giving the invisible teen a shove. Truthfully, he still isn't tired. Not in that way. This particular ache in his chest has little to do with his gift, but that's not something he's going to discuss with _Millard_ of all people. "And why are you whispering? This isn't a library-" 

"I don't think Emma needs to hear about you letting him go just yet." 

Enoch's mouth snaps shut at that, but there's no time to reply regardless. Miss Peregrine turns to them, face grim. She gestures them to come closer. Enoch is slower to comply than Millard, the lantern bobbing in front of the dead-riser like a will-o'-the-wisp. 

"We need to move him to the house, but he's in no fit shape to be moved. Mr. O'Connor, you have experience from your family's funeral parlor, and sewing your...creations, correct? The same theory should apply here. Mr. Nullings, can you fetch him some supplies, please?" 

Enoch stares for a moment, thinking her to be joking, but her expression doesn't falter. Emma is looking up at them, nearly looking as pale as Jacob now. 

"I've never done someone who was breathing!" Enoch says eventually, snaps really, but Miss Peregrine only shakes her head. 

"There's nothing to be done for it now. As I said, he can't be moved, and it's imperative we get him inside immediately." 

"But, Miss Peregrine, why? Isn't Enoch just gonna..." Bronwyn trails off, looking unsure. Emma throws her a look of enraged disbelief. 

"Isn't he going to what?" Emma says flatly. "Send him back? He's alive, Bronwyn!" 

"Emma, he isn't-" 

"Well, he's here." Emma hisses. "That should be enough!"

"You expect me to keep him here forever?" Enoch interjects, because it seems fairly important they get that miscommunication out of the way now. What was supposed to be a simple moment of closure has spiralled into something other, and Enoch isn't prepared for it. She turns to glare at him, looking fierce. Jacob is quiet again, and Enoch swears, if he doesn't quit _staring_-

"Enough!" Miss Peregrine says, her voice sharp. They fall into an uneasy silence, interrupted only by Jacob's rattling breaths. Their headmistress' gaze is locked onto Jacob's face, and the comprehension there seems to disturb her.

When Millard returns, he brings Enoch's sewing kit. The small wooden case gleams in the lantern light, its familiar weight feeling oddly heavy when Millard passes it to him. 

"Why do you want him inside?" Enoch demands, unmoving. Miss Peregrine frowns at him, and he adds, "After all your lectures about how I shouldn't revive people, there has to be something going on. We deserve to know."

When she says nothing, her lips pursing in impatience, Enoch has an unpleasant epiphany. "You think he's a wight, don't you?" 

Millard gasps quietly, and Bronwyn makes a sound of alarm. Emma goes very, very still. 

"A wight?" Jacob murmurs, and Enoch is reminded how very little he knew about their world before he was taken from it. The boy looks so vulnerable lying there all of a sudden, dull eyes wide and confused, blood caked in his hair. Enoch locks his knees against the urge to walk over to him. If he _is _a wight playing the part of a peculiar in need, he's doing a spectacular job.

"He isn't." Emma says quietly, and then more firmly. "He isn't, Miss Peregrine! Look at his eyes!" 

"Wights are notoriously cunning, Miss Bloom. Concealing their true appearance has never been a challenge for them." 

Emma says nothing, only shakes her head in silent refusal.

"It's only a possibility." Miss Peregrine replies softly. "Slim, certainly, but still a possibility. He needs to be contained until he can be proven innocent."

"Why can't Enoch just send him back?" Bronwyn says, a tremor in her voice. Her face is haunted, no doubt thinking of the grinning wight that had sent a hollowgast after Victor. "Miss Peregrine, the kids!"

Bronwyn pulls Emma away slightly, who allows it only after catching sight of the strong-arm's expression. 

"I understand your concern, Miss Bruntley.  
But the council will want to interrogate him. Capturing wights alive, or at least to a capacity of being able to communicate, is too rare of an occurrence to risk."

Enoch feels chilled. He thinks back to his prior question to Emma, his words layered thickly with sarcastic disbelief. It seems ironic now that they're being forced into truth. 

"You want me to keep him like this?" He asks, never one to keep his ire silenced. "For how long?" 

"For as long as it takes for the council to be informed and arrive. The world is increasingly dangerous outside of loops, as we're all aware. We can't take the chance of you being unable to revive him a second time should you cease implementing your peculiarity-" 

"For how long?" 

Miss Peregrine's lips purse again, and she looks troubled. "Possibly a month." 

The sewing kit very nearly drops from his hands. He has half a mind to throw it, but he doesn't. Enoch swallows roughly, locking eyes with Jacob. It seems impossible - and ha! Isn't that a running theme for tonight? - that he only revived him minutes ago. It feels like hours, years. 

Then again, time never means much here. 

"I don't know if I can do it." He says, quiet. There's so much more to the statement than the fatigue he should be feeling, but who's to say that won't come later too? The words still burn on their way out though, defeat and uncertainty feeling unwelcome in his vocabulary. 

Miss Peregrine nods understandingly, looking tired. "I will ask no more of you than you are capable, Mr. O'Connor. If you feel you aren't up to the task, I won't force you."

She turns to Jacob finally then, her face an odd mix of unwavering and pained.

"I truly apologize for all this if you are who you say you are, Mr. Portman. But I can't deny the suspicious details surrounding your arrival, and now this. Our world is too dangerous for trust to be given freely."

Enoch, still staring at Jacob, isn't sure which part of her words strengthens his resolve. He finds himself kneeling, jaw clenched as he goes through his supplies. His bloodied scalpel is still in the grass, gleaming softly in their halo of light. He'll have to clean it later. 

Drawing out a needle and some thread, he hesitates. He cracks the invisible door between them slowly. Tensing, he prepares for an influx of emotions to come pouring through. It's oddly muted though, Jacob feeling nothing strongly enough for it to be very obvious. There's a hint of fear, and a little sadness. It makes Enoch feel guilty again, though he can't pinpoint exactly why.

"I don't know how much pain you can feel," He says, his voice lowered. "But this might hurt."

"I can take it." Jake murmurs, and the idiot has the nerve to give Enoch a strained half smile. Enoch isn't sure how it manages to look charming with the kid looking like blood soaked roadkill, but he isn't thrilled about it. 

"Typical American." He snarks, threading the needle. He has a bizarre thought that he should sanitize it first, but judging by the mud and blood and hollowgast saliva covering him, it won't do much good. He assesses Jacob's punctures with a frown. He isn't a surgeon by any stretch of the imagination, but he should be able to prevent what's left of the kid's insides from spilling across the yard.

Emma returns, clutching one of Jacob's hands. She gives a broken little laugh when he squeezes her palm.

"Don't worry, Jake. Enoch will be gentle."

"Feel to free to scream if you have to." He deadpans, and Emma punches him on the arm. 

It feels oddly calm, even when Enoch starts. Jake makes a few hitching sounds, but he stops flinching when Enoch tells him to. It seems that he has some control over him, even if it's not as much as his other animations. There's a chance that he might just be faking if he actually is a wight, but he still files the information away. 

Bronwyn helps get him inside afterwards, keeping her jaw squared and eyes ahead. She doesn't seem to want to touch Jake much, and it isn't hard to guess why. A little flare of hurt slips through the connection, followed almost immediately by understanding. The kid even tries to move on his own a little, giving Bronwyn as much space as he can. 

It's so nauseatingly, typically_ Jacob_ that Enoch scoffs, letting him lean more onto his shoulder.

And if there's a twinge of something affectionate that comes from Enoch's side of the door, well. 

That's no one's business but his own.


	2. Chapter 2

The children are cluttered near the door when they go inside.

They make no attempt to disperse, the air thick with curiosity and relief at Jake's apparent living state. Enoch can't really blame them, but Miss Peregrine tries momentarily to herd them away. It's clear that it's a lost cause when even the threat of withheld dessert doesn't inspire obedience. Hugh, who seems to have given up on wrangling the little monsters awhile ago, offers an apology over the accumulation of excited voices. Wild haired Fiona clings to the beekeeper's arm, looking overwhelmed. 

Jacob seems to be getting there himself, his thoughts dizzying undiscernably under a layer of pain. Enoch frowns, debating if threatening the anklebiters with violence would help or harm the situation. Emma takes a milder approach, navigating a path through the small throng with purpose. Well, at first, anyway.

"I swear, if you guys don't go to your rooms, I'm going to burn all of you!"

A few grumbles ring through the air at the bluff, including Horace's indignant "You wouldn't dare - this suit is new!" 

Millard intervenes, enthusiastically promising some kind of puppet show, which he ropes an unwilling Hugh into participating in. The children slow a bit in their pursuit, begrudgingly allowing themselves to be directed towards the sitting room. All but one, who breaks from the group and follows. 

Claire looks up at Jake with wet eyes. Her tiny face is drawn with miserable guilt as she catches sight of the crude stitches littering his form.

"I'm so s-sorry. I didn't mean t-to get you hurt, Jake."

Miss Peregrine looks ready to speak, but surprisingly, Jake does first. 

"Hey, no. 'S not your fault. I'm just-" he pauses to swallow some rising blood, trying pointedly not to focus on the taste. "Just glad you're not hurt."

Enoch finds himself staring, that warm feeling rising in his chest again. It infuriatingly refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he swats at it. Jake seems to feel it, glancing at Enoch questioningly. The dead-riser looks forward, gritting his teeth as his face flushes slightly. 

He is so screwed.

"It could have happened to any of us, Claire." Bronwyn adds, and Claire sniffles, taking Miss Peregrine's offered hand. The bird rights some of her disarrayed curls as they proceed, and Enoch hates that the guilt remains in her eyes, hates that he's always been so bad at comforting people. There aren't many people he'd truly to care to comfort, but Claire is one of them.

"I'm really okay, Claire, I promise. I don't even feel anything anymore." Jacob says, and Emma glances at him fondly. Even Bronwyn looks at him once, her mask of distrust slipping for a moment before returning. The lie even sounds true to Enoch, who has an actual mental connection to the kid. It hits him again, perhaps belatedly.

If he really is a wight, they're probably all screwed. 

They reach a standstill near the end of the hall. Emma eyes the stairs, looking both worried and contemplative. Jacob is a cold weight against Enoch, his body trembling sporadically like it doesn't quite remember how. The link is growing increasingly taut with exertion. The dead-riser stares at him again, unable now to look away. There's a raw fear of it snapping, of never seeing those eyes brighten again, of never hearing him say something ridiculous or selfless that always gets under his skin.

Enoch considers himself proficient when it comes to death, but it always seems to hold a different weight when you can see it approaching. When it happens suddenly, there's no time to dread it, to think about it. Now, Enoch sees it impending, and it brings with it a dark dread that he never wants to feel again.

There's always the chance he could bring him back, but then, there's a chance he can't. 

"Hey," he says quietly, his heart thrumming madly. Those bright eyes are on him again, and Enoch means to ask if he's all right. Saying the words out loud though only seems like they'd jinx something, or draw more focus to the fact that he's not. So, Enoch doesn't. 

Instead, he squeezes Jake's wrist, the kid's arm still slung over the dead-riser's shoulders as Enoch supports him. He guides him over to sit on a spare ottoman in the hall, and Bronwyn takes the chance to distance herself, skittering to Emma's side. 

They all could use a breather. 

Enoch sits next to Jake, who props his head on a shaky hand. His other wrist is still snagged by Enoch, who isn't inclined to let go just yet. He halfheartedly attempts to rationalize the action, telling himself that he's only doing it in case the kid falls. 

The thought sounds flimsy even to him. 

"Don't go dying again." Enoch half demands. Jacob laughs, a raspy sound that robs Enoch's breath for a second.

"Not the plan."

"You have a plan, do you?" The dead-riser says, his lips twitching amusedly. "You might have clued me into it. I did bring you back to life and all."

Jacob looks up more at him, surprised. His thoughts spill over into Enoch's like a errant wave. 

_'didn't know he had any facial expressions other than scowling.'_

Enoch scowls at that, and Jacob chuckles quietly again in response. He should be more startled by this developing telepathy, but he's distracted by Jake's laugh. The dead-riser is becoming decidedly fond of the sound. Damn him.

"Maybe I will." Jake says, wincing as he shifts slightly. It takes Enoch a moment to remember what he's talking about. He squeezes his cold wrist again, wondering if his hand is as cool. He doesn't quite dare to grasp it to see.

"I doubt you have a plan for anything." He says truthfully, scoffing. "You aren't that smart."

"Yeah, no arguments there." Jacob replies lightly, and then, Emma's approaches, a hesitant looking Bronwyn lingering behind. Enoch reluctantly releases his grasp, feeling slightly annoyed at the interruption. It's an immature feeling, he knows, and he does his best to ignore it. The fire girl winces herself when she looks into Jacob's eyes, still coated in mud and blood and filled with fatigue. Truly, he is an unsettling sight. He needs to get cleaned up at some point, assuming the stitches hold. Enoch might have to redo them later.

Emma takes Jacob's hand gently, and Enoch feels unwanted jealousy stir at how easy the motion is for her, how little she has to think about it. He looks away to avoid glaring.

"Jake, do you think you can make it up the stairs?" She asks hesitantly. "That's where the spare rooms are, but Miss P won't make you go if you can't handle it."

"If not, I'm sure we got space down here." Bronwyn adds quickly, and it's evident how in favor of that option the strong-arm is. Enoch wonders if it's more of Bronwyn not wanting to carry him if he likely can't make it, and not wanting him the be around the kids' bedrooms.

_'probably the second one.' _Jake thinks. Enoch glances back at him, but he's gone as quickly as he came. There's a bitter aftertaste of pain left behind that Enoch suspects has little to do with his wounds.

"I'll do whatever makes you guys most comfortable," Jake says out loud, and Miss Peregrine gives him a mixed look of pity and approval. Claire is still holding the bird's hand, partially hidden behind her skirt. 

"You can share a room with me and Olive, Jake." She says shyly. Jacob smiles, and Enoch thinks he's getting better at seeing which ones are hollow. The kid is struggling to think of a gentle rejection that won't make Claire feel worse, but words drift away before he can grab them.

"You wouldn't want him for a roommate, Claire." Enoch says eventually, and Jake throws him a grateful look. "He told me that he snores alot." 

"Or he can share a room with Bron and me." Emma says suddenly, ignoring Bronwyn's quiet protest. "No one else in the house could keep a better eye on him than us, Miss P."

"Co-inhabitation would hardly be appropriate." Miss Peregrine says as Enoch bristles slightly. "And you seem to be forgetting that Mr. Portman is here under suspicion. It's a matter of safety-"

"We're not children." Emma says, sounding like she's trying very hard to keep her voice civil. She earns a terse look at the interruption, regardless. "No one's peculiarities are better for guard duty than ours, you know that. And what about how Jake feels in all this-"

"You'd think you'd want to ask him then," Enoch says, and she blinks like she forgot the dead-riser was there. Jacob is awkwardly aware of his position between them. His indecision of which way to lean shouldn't be as warmly satisfying to Enoch as it is.

It shouldn't be, but it is.

"Uh, hey, it doesn't really matter where -" Jacob starts, but Emma speaks at the same time, brow raised. She looks genuinely surprised. "I didn't realize you cared about him." 

"Well, I do."

The words are hardly an admission of love, but they still leave a strange taste on his tongue. 

Jake looks at him again then, looking nearly as startled as Bronwyn. Enoch tenses for a moment, wondering if he knows, wonders just how direct their thoughts are, but then he hears the word _friend? _floating in his mind like a question. He bites back a huff as he relaxes.

Resisting the urge to scowl, he questions what the hell he sees in this idiot. Does he truly seem so incapable of friendship? He did save him, afterall.

Shaking his head at himself, he inspects his nails nonchalantly. Picking some of Jake's blood out from underneath them, he says,

"So, where do you want to stay? Try to pick somewhere you'll be comfortable in for awhile - I doubt the warden is going to let you out of whatever room you pick."

"Enoch," Miss Peregrine says, huffing out an annoyed breath. He flicks his eyes up to see that hers are closed, seemingly as she searches for patience. She must find it, because she opens them a mere second later.

"Mr.O'Connor is crass in his deliverance of that fact, but correct. It would be...prudent that you stay put. The children are already going to be on edge as it is without-" 

_Seeing you around, _but she doesn't say it, trailing off. Jacob's shoulders sag a bit. 

"You say I'm crass?" Enoch says, annoyed.

The bird sighs, collecting herself. "Well, regardless, it would be the better to keep you isolated. At least at first. Until we can prove that you're not a threat, in the very least."

"The basement has room." The dead-riser offers, wondering if it's too bold, too telling. He tries not to look too keen on the idea. 

Enoch technically shares a room with Hugh, but he hasn't slept in it in years. The basement has always been_ his _space, its blessed solitude and silence things he can find almost nowhere else. Besides, he suspects that Hugh and Fiona make use of the privacy that Enoch's continued absence allows, and he isn't keen to discover how his bees play into that scenario.

"Wherever is okay." Jake responds again. "I don't want to put anyone out or anything."

Emma frowns at his answer, giving Enoch a quiet look. There's an edge to it that can only be seen if you really know her, both searching and warning. Jake doesn't seem to notice, but Enoch catches it fine, and he nearly feels regretful. He _does _know Emma, and has for decades. They're whatever passes for family in this broken world. Enoch admittedly doesn't have the strongest moral code, but it seems wrong for him to let a kid they barely know strain that.

Bronwyn looks at a loss, torn between saying something and remaining silent. Enoch does feel bad at her unease, at least. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't actually like causing unneeded turmoil - peace is a golden thing a house with twelve ageless people.

"We have a room at the end of the hall too." Emma says, turning her attention back to Jake. There's an unspoken_ later _the dead-riser senses in the air, an inevitable conversation that he isn't thrilled about. He doesn't think she knows, is almost certain of it, but dealing with an irked Emma is never pleasant, regardless. 

Miss Peregrine takes a step forward, directing a quiet Claire to join the other kids. Jake returns her tiny wave, his thoughts back to quiet and grim. It pains Enoch to feel them, but just like with Claire, with Emma, with everyone, he has no idea how to comfort him. He sends a small warmth through the link instead, watching as Jake stiffens in surprise at it. They hardly notice Miss Peregrine speaking.

"There are quite a few sensitive documents and articacts in that room, Miss Bloom. Perhaps-"

_'am I ever going to get go home?' _Jake asks suddenly, the words brushing against Enoch's mind like a phantom touch. His tone is both delicate and rigid - fearful at the answer but needing to know anyway. It should remind him of Abe more, that desire to leave, that unflinching and stupid bravery of knowing what's out there, and risking it anyway.

It doesn't though, and Enoch really isn't sure why. 

_'i don't know,' _He responds honestly. 

Jacob nods once, running a hand across his face. Blood comes off in little flecks. 

"-think the basement really is the best option in this situation." Miss Peregrine is saying, and then,

"I'm sorry for this, Mr. O'Connor. I know how you dislike company down there."

"I'm sure I'll live." He says, and Jake snorts humorlessly. 

Emma shakes her head, looking exasperated.

"Really, Enoch, you had to choose those words in particular?" 

He shrugs.

\- - - 

Jacob's trembling again when they reach the basement, barely reaching the cot before collapsing into it. The shivering seems to be a reaction based on exertion alone, because it's certainly doing nothing to warm him. His pale skin is still frigid to the touch, even the blood seeping from a slightly opened wound lacking any sign of warmth. The low light in the basement only makes him look more sickly, very much like a person on their deathbed.

The kid curses quietly in pain, and normally, Miss Peregrine's soured expression would amuse Enoch. But he's too focused on the link, the way it trembles like Jacob he does. 

Like the slightest force could break him. 

Enoch mentally feels around it, not sure where he should focus, where he should direct his peculiarity to make it settle. He ends up just pouring as much as he can everywhere. A mild headache immediately sets up around the dead-riser's temples, but Jake seems to relax, so he considers the action worth it.

Emma fetches Jake a blanket from the pile of storage trunks in the corner.

"Thanks," He rasps, and then, glances up at the jars lining the walls. He looks a little nauseated. "Nice decorating."

Emma snorts, relaxing a bit herself. "Yes, he does have a particular skill for it."

"Don't knock it, American." Enoch says, running a finger across the jar closest to him. The stretch of curved glass is comfortingly familiar. "This decor saved your life."

Jake blinks, looking contemplative. "Ah, right. You can...with these. I forgot about that part. Forgot about alot, actually. What all happened?" 

Miss Peregrine brings a stool from Enoch's workbench over, dusting it off primly before sitting down. She then looks at Jacob sharply over the rims of her glasses. It makes her look very birdlike.

"I was hoping you could tell us. I did receive a general recounting of the events by Mr. Nullings, but I was curious to know if you had any sense of the hollowgast at all. Peculiarities are nearly always hereditary, even if they do skip generations. If I can inform the Ymbryne Council that you retain some form of your grandfather's ability, it would greatly help paint the picture of your innocence."

Jacob says nothing, his eyebrows drawing together as he thinks. There's a bruise over his left eye, and Enoch wonders vaguely if it will ever heal now. 

"I don't think so." He says eventually. "I mean, I saw its shadows like everyone else, but that was it." 

"And you still claim that Abe told you nothing? Nothing more than photographs and our general location?"

He scratches at the back of his neck, pondering, before giving Miss Miss Peregrine a regretful look. "No. I'm sorry. I guess he didn't want me to know about most of this."

"That doesn't sound much like him." Emma muses, brows drawing together. Her face has that dark expression she always gets when she speaks of Abe. The uncertainty in her voice makes Enoch hate the man a little more.

"He must have lost his nerve as he got older." Enoch says, voice sour. "The Abe I remember would have trained any peculiar relative he had to fight hollows as soon as they could walk."

Jake stiffens a bit. Something like offended affection rises in his mind at the perceived slight to his grandfather. Enoch rolls his eyes, exasperated. Did everyone adore that fool?

"Have you had any other forms of peculiarities you can think of?" Miss Peregrine presses. "Anything at all? You wouldn't have been able to enter the loop otherwise."

"Uh, I could parallel park at fifteen." He jokes, and then coughs awkwardly at their blank faces. "Right. Not a whole lot of cars on the island right now."

"Certainly, he would remember having a peculiarity, Miss Miss Peregrine." Says a voice near Emma. She jumps in surprise, swatting at the air.

"Millard! What are you even doing down here?" 

Enoch bristles, loudly echoing the sentiment. He hardly ever let anyone down here, and it's crowded enough as it is. 

"The kids are fine." Millard declares, even as Bronwyn dashes up the stairs to check on them. "Hugh and Fiona are actually very adept puppeteers."

"Are you forgetting there was a hollowgast a hundred feet from the loop entrance?" Enoch snaps, and Millard huffs, sounding appalled. 

"I assure you, I didn't. I merely think this is a time to be lighthearted about the affair considering there are children involved."

Miss Peregrine rises from the stool, her face the picture of leashed frustration. "I do think it's time to call it a night. I have things I need to attend to, and I'm sure our guest could use some rest." 

Instead of heading for the stairs though, she makes for makeshift storage area of trunks that Enoch can't seem to get rid of no matter how much he complains about their presence. 

"Oh, I don't need another blanket, Miss Peregrine-" Jake starts, and then trails off. Enoch, who'd apparently been staring at him again without realizing, fuck everything, follows his gaze. 

"You can't be serious." The dead-riser hisses immediately.

"It's a safety precaution only, Mr.O'Connor." The bird says grimly, holding up a pair of clunky looking manacles. There's a chain connected to them, pooling on the ground like a twisted serpent waiting to strike. He has no idea where they came from - maybe they had them to tether Olive whenever she didn't have her shoes, maybe Millard had thieved them from the town in his pointless documentation of their daily lives, or maybe Miss Peregrine just has alot more secrets than he realizes. 

Regardless, he doesn't want them anywhere near Jake. 

"No," he says, stepping in her path. "I can watch him."

"And I can stay down here and help him. 24/7 if I have to!" Millard adds boldly. 

"Like hell you will," Enoch says. He looks at Emma, impatiently raising a brow. 

"Well?" He demands. "Are you going to defend your boyfriend or not?"

Emma gives him a glare with little heat, chewing on the inside of her cheek. It's very uncharacteristic for her, and it makes Enoch go silent for a moment. Then, he scowls, actually feeling a little disappointed. "You don't honestly believe this wight shit all of a sudden, do you?"

"Mr.O'Connor," Miss Peregrine protests sternly. "That is quite enough."

"It's fine." Jake rasps, sitting up a little straighter. His face is almost calm, but his thoughts are swirling. Stress bleeds from them into his mind, and for a moment, for an extremely unsettling moment, Enoch's not sure where Jacob's emotions end and his begin. 

_"No," _Enoch repeats, and the bird frowns in disapproval. 

"Enoch, I said it's fine-" Jake says again, and the dead-riser feels a lash of irritation.

"Be quiet if you're just going to defend this!" He snaps without thinking, and Jake goes silent suddenly as the order takes hold, looking a little pained again. Emma hesitates for only a moment before going over to him, worry pinching her tense features further.

"Wait, I didn't mean-" Enoch starts, but the apology he means to say refuses to come out. He scowls, annoyed with himself, with everything, and turns back to Miss Peregrine.

"He isn't an animal, for peculiar's sake!"

The bird looks at him for what feels like a long time. "You are my ward, Enoch. As are Emma and Millard, and everyone upstairs. It is my duty to protect you all, and I will do everything in my power to do so. I know that this seems cruel, but remember the losses we have suffered by laxness."

Millard makes a quiet noise that he doesn't try to decipher. He's too busy staring at Jake again, scowling when he lifts his wrists so the bird doesn't have to reach for them. Millard puts a hand on the dead-riser's shoulder that he's too distracted to shake off.

Not knowing what else he can do, Enoch touches on the connection again as Miss Peregrine encloses the manacles with a_ clink_. He tries to release him from mental constraints at least so that he can speak again. Enoch can't feel any kind of restriction though, meaning the silence is likely Jake's choice now. 

Enoch finds that his own words become lost too, swept up in a brewing storm of anger and guilt. Miss Peregrine surveys the basement for a moment. Support columns rise throughout the dark space like bare trees in an already sparse forest. She complains often about their unsightliness, but he's always kind of liked them. His taste for them evaporates as she approaches the nearest one, and he stares at Jacob in silence as she loops the chain around it. Her apologies and promises for future conversations fall on deaf ears. Jake's thoughts are subdued once more.

The final leeway looks like it will give him about ten feet, if that. 

Truly, it could probably be worse, but the dead-riser still feels another surge of guilt come over him. This isn't what he pictured when he brought Jake back - hell, even he isn't this pessimistic. 

The guilt remains when Miss Peregrine ushers a torn looking Emma upstairs to get cleaned, giving Enoch and Millard a halfhearted order to do the same.

It remains still as Jake's bright eyes meet his, responding maybe to the words the dead-riser is thinking, but can never seem to say aloud.

_'i'm sorry'_


End file.
